


but your hands found me like an architect

by mimosaeyes



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Holding Hands, silly fluff specifically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 05:36:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20902484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mimosaeyes/pseuds/mimosaeyes
Summary: The Doctor fixes the TARDIS. Yaz helps.For fictober on tumblr, prompt: “Yes, I’m aware. Your point?”





	but your hands found me like an architect

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Anne Sexton’s poem, “The Breast”.

“Is this bit _supposed_ to be doing that?” 

Somewhere in the mess of wires that have spilled out from the TARDIS’s console, the Doctor snorts. “You’re going to have to be more specific than that, luv. There’s a lot of bits around here, doing a lot of things.”

Hmm. “It’s rather difficult to describe.” 

“We’re going to be stuck here for a while until I can fix up my beautiful girl,” the Doctor points out. Yaz hears two light thumps as she presumably pats the nearest part of the TARDIS to her. “You might as well give it a go.”

Yaz scrunches up her nose as she contemplates her discovery. “It sort of looks like a baby elephant… that’s wearing gumboots. Only it's got three legs, not four, and the trunk ends in a spinning wheel-lever-gear thing?”

The Doctor hums serenely, as if this is all in order so far.

Then Yaz delivers the kicker. “And it’s, well. Sort of steaming.”

The sounds of industrious yet inexpert tinkering cease momentarily. “Steaming?”

“Just a little. Is that significant? Do you know what it is now?”

“What colour is it?” The Doctor’s tone has turned focused and urgent.

“Um, bronze, I guess. And a bit greenish? Though that might be the lighting.” Yaz is determined to provide accurate information here.

“Uh-huh, and is the trunk-wheel-thing going clockwise or anti-clockwise?” 

Yaz begins to feel like she should maybe retreat to a minimum safe distance from the contraption. She imagines the Doctor going through a mental flowchart of items this thing could be, her voice growing more imperative as the harmless possibilities were eliminated. 

“Clockwise?” she reports, her nerves making the statement into a question.

“Ahhh,” the Doctor says knowingly. Solemnly.

To her credit, Yaz gives it a good six seconds before demanding to know, “Well?! What is it?!”

The Doctor resumes tinkering. “I have no idea!” 

Something about her insouciant tone makes Yaz narrow her eyes in suspicion. “By any chance, would you have had any idea if it’d been, say, magenta, glittery, and anti-clockwise?”

“Nope,” the Doctor chirps, popping the ‘p’.

It says something about how Yaz feels about the Doctor, that this revelation elicits not irritation but disappointment. “Aww. I thought I was being helpful.”

“Oh, but you are!” The words might have sounded patronising coming from anyone else, but in the Doctor’s voice they are sincerely appreciative. “You’re giving me very good incentive to fix this the boring, safe way and not the fast, fun way. _And_ your voice is keeping the TARDIS calm while I perform a little reconstructive surgery. She likes you, oh yes. I can tell.”

That’s a high compliment, and Yaz blushes to hear it. She shifts her weight from the balls of her feet to her heels, then back again. “Can I… Can I help with anything else?” 

“Oh, yes actually!” the Doctor exclaims. “Come over and hold something for me, would you?” 

Once Yaz has clomped over, the Doctor blindly sticks out her hand in her general direction.

“Doctor, there’s nothing in your hand.”

“Yes, I'm aware. Your point?”

Yaz thinks she must have had one, something about this being counterproductive; but she loses it entirely when the Doctor tilts her head back to peer at her upside down. For an ancient being, she sometimes looks just like a little puppy.

“Oh, alright. If you think it’ll help,” Yaz concedes — as if holding the Doctor’s hand is some big sacrifice she’s having to make.

A few minutes pass this way. They take what feels like two seconds to do so. (Timey-wimey, wibbly-wobbly, Yaz remembers the Doctor muttering in her sleep once.) 

“D’you know what?” the Doctor muses, mostly addressing the… whatever it is she’s working on, but tentatively glancing at where their hands are still linked. “I think that bit _is_ supposed to be doing this.”

**Author's Note:**

> I can’t believe my first Doctor Who fic ever is this piece of silly fluff that I wrote at 3am.


End file.
